


Jamais Vu

by erintoknow



Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [21]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Kissing, Love Triangle, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-02 21:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: A love triangle of Ariadne Becker's own making, between herself, her puppet, and Ortega. A string trap that threatens to snap shut around her.





	1. put salt in the wound

No clouds in the sky, save for the industrial smog of Los Diablos. It looms over the city’s southern industrial district and projects. There’s always at least some smog in the air. Some of the more affluent corporations have pooled together to fund a team of boosts capable of keeping the air in the financial district clear, or at least breathable. Don’t want the tourists to shy away, so hide it somewhere they won’t go right? But it’s like sweeping the dirt under the rug if the rug was the sky.

Your puppet, Jane frowns as she relaxes on the stonework rim of the fountain, the mist of the water spray providing an illusion of relief from the heat. The fountain is topped with a bronze figure, a monument to some fallen hero. You might have known who it was, once, but it doesn’t matter now. No one reads those plaques anyway.

“You look deep in thought.” Ortega hands Jane an ice cream cone with some napkins: two scoops, strawberry, plain. Not your preferred choice, but it’s the details that keep the distance between you and Jane.

“Thanks,” Jane says, taking the cone. She tucks her wavy auburn hair out the way, behind her ear, so it won’t get in the way. Seeing the the other cone in Ortega’s hand, she cocks an eyebrow. “And what on earth is that?”

“Habanero chocolate with caramel and chili powder.” Ortega grins, “Why? You want to try it?”

Jane returns the smile and shakes her head. “Ice cream and peppers? Sounds outright unnatural to me.”

Ortega gestures with her free arm, “Los Diablos!”

“Alright, I take your point.” Jane laughs as Ortega sits down on the rim of the fountain with her. 

The two of them sit there in silence for a while licking ice cream. A lone seagull circles over head, landing on one street light only to take off and settle on another. Damn thing can’t make up its mind. “So,” Ortega says, breaking the silence. Jane turns her attention back to the woman beside her. “You said before your work doesn’t leave much time for relationships…?”

Jane laughs again, “Look at you, remembering things I’ve said.”

“I’m just terrible that way.”

“The worst!” Jane takes another lick of her ice cream, pointedly looking at Ortega as she does it. You’ve had to sit privy to far too many of Ortega’s relationships over the years to not know exactly what pushes her buttons. The woman doesn’t stand a chance really. “I… may have said that.” Jane concedes. “Who’s asking?”

“Just me.” Ortega says. “Just wondering what keeps you so busy. You know what I do now, only seems fair.”

“Mmm…” Jane waggles her free hand, pretending to weigh her options. “It’s nothing exciting like your thing.” She shoots a glance at Ortega, a smirk creeping up her face. “I bet you’ll never guess.”

“Sounds like a challenge. What do I get if I win?”

“What about another date? After the Gala?”

“You wouldn’t otherwise?”

Jane leans back, she licks her cone, and looks at Ortega with hooded eyes. “Well, I can’t make time for just anyone, now can I?” The smirk returns to her face. “So you want to take a guess?”

Ortega eyes Jane up and down. It’s not an altogether unpleasant feeling, if maybe a queer one. Being Jane has involved dusting off a lot of old lessons and learned habits from your pre-Ariadne days. Using sexuality had never really progressed beyond the strictly academic until Jane, there’s a strange mixture of thrill and fear to it. It helps that’s she’s not you, doesn’t have your… baggage. The distance provides at least some protection against embarrassment. 

Instead Jane just smiles knowingly at Ortega as lean back, holding what remains of her ice cream in front of her face. “You get three guesses.”

“No hints to start me off?”

“Okay then.” Jane drums fingers against stone. “Well, it’s a real cut-throat industry.”

“Every industry is cut-throat around here.”

Jane only returns a tight-lipped smile.

Ortega watches Jane thoughtfully as they both work on their ice cream. “Well. Let’s see. You’re always stylishly dressed. Outside your gym sweats I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the same outfit twice. Between that and the jewelry you’re doing pretty well for yourself financially.”

Jane doesn’t say anything, just smiles and waits. Having Ortega’s gaze on Jane; there’s something electrifying and heartbreaking about it, all at once. Not for the first time, not even in the last ten minutes, you find yourself grateful for the distance that wearing Jane grants you to your body’s own reactions.

“You don’t look like you do a lot of hard labor, yet you still put effort into keeping fit despite the lack of free time… I’ve got it.”

“Do you?”

“You work in a law office.”

Jane smiles, “Nope. Strike one.”

Ortega snaps her fingers.

“What made you think law office?”

“You’ve got a strong sense of justice.”

Jane raises her eyebrows in a skeptical look. “Do I now?” Interesting. More flattery, or…?

Ortega finishes the last of her ice cream cone as she continues to think, finally she says, “If it’s not law, then it’s something financial.”

“You tell me I have a ‘strong sense of justice’ and your second guess is I work with money?” Jane laughs, she can’t help it.

“It bothers you, I can tell.”

“Mhm.” She frowns at that. This was supposed to be fun, but Ortega’s perceptive skills are perhaps a little keener than you remember them being. Maybe it’s because Jane is the object of her affection this time? She would certainly have never looked at you this way.

Honestly, the revelation that Ortega might actually be into women in any serious capacity is still rocking your world. When it was you, –actually you, not Jane– there was always that fear, on top of everything else, that if she was interested, did that mean you weren’t woman enough to have disqualified yourself from the pool of men fawning over Ortega? What does it even mean to be interested in women as a trans woman anyway? Gender is stupid and you kind of hate it humans for inventing it.

“Well, am I right?” Ortega asks, dragging Jane back to Earth.

“You need to be more specific than that.”

“Accounting then.

Jane purses her lips, finishing the last of her ice cream to buy time to think. Ortega leans in and Jane relents with a big sigh, making a show of being outwitted. Better to let Ortega think she got something then to encourage any further digging. “I get to pick the place next time.”

“I was right, then?”

Jane tilts her head, “Mhm. Close enough. Debt management. I’d rather not talk about it much, to be honest.” She flashes Ortega a smug smile, “It isn’t exactly a media darling job.”

Ortega laughs, rubbing the back of her neck. You think there might be a hint of a flush there. “That’s fair, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks. It’s nice to have a break from it now and again.”

“I get it. Rough job?”

“Honestly? It’s pretty depressing at times,” Jane admits. “Whole lot of people in this city who think you can get out of settling your debts.” Something about that sentence leaves a foul taste in Jane’s mouth. She shakes her head, “it’s never the people that deserve who get a break either.” She puts her hand over Ortega’s, leans in against her shoulder as she twines their fingers together. “I bet things are a lot more straightforward in the hero business.”

“I wish it was.”


	2. follow the thread

Jane tries to smile, but it feels wrong– fake. “Well, you seem a bit more distracted than usual.” She flashes her eyes to the Castrofiend display and grimaces, not the reassuring sight she was looking for. Then, she says: “Actually, well– I saw you with someone else a while back. In the park?” She tilts her head, inquisitive, suspicious. “It looked– she looked pretty intense.”

What are you doing? You idiot. You moron. You fool.

“The park? Oh. Ariadne…” Jane’s heart sinks hearing her say ‘Ariadne’ in that tone of voice. Ortega sighs, shaking her head. It’s hard to get a read on her expression. “That’s…”

“Your ex?” Jane asks, slipping the word in like a sharpened knife. Her heart is pounding in her throat, but she does a good job of hiding it, keeping her face only just south of neutral.

Stay focused. Don’t get distracted, damn it.

Ortega shrugs, is… is she embarrassed? “Not exactly.” She reaches an arm up to scratch at the back of her head, not meeting Jane’s gaze. “We were friends…? Years ago. I had thought she died.”

She _did_ die, you want to correct her.

Jane narrows her eyes. “And she can tell that you’re just, ‘being friendly’?”

Her response is a single sharp ‘hah’. “Honestly? I think she’d rather I leave her alone.”

“So why don’t you?” Jane frowns. _God_. Why doesn’t she? “Like you said–it was years ago.” Jane crosses her arms, leans in towards Ortega.

“I’m worried about her,” Ortega’s response comes a little too fast. She won’t look at Jane, resumes walking down the hallway. You know that tell. That’s _your_ tell.

Jane has to pick up the pace to keep up with her, gritting her teeth. “You’re worried? So. Should I be worried as well then?” Power-walking in heels? Your own body would be wobbling all over, but Jane has no issues keeping up.

“Why? Oh.” Ortega stops and you almost step right into her. “Oh, Jane,” She turns to face her, shaking her head. “No, you don’t have to be worried about anything, it’s not like that. We’re just…” There’s a strange expression on Ortega’s face, one you can’t read. “We’re just old friends, there’s nothing there.”

Of course there’s nothing there. In fact, why are you having this conversation? What are you trying to do here? Jane can have a relationship with Ortega. You can’t. That’s basic inescapable reality.

Jane softens her expression, lowers her voice. “What did she use to be like?”

What does she _really_ know or care about you anyway?

Ortega starts walking again, slow enough for Jane to keep pace now. There’s a suggestion of a smile on her face. “Difficult. I mean, it was difficult to get close to her at all. And… it’s not like were were an official item back then.” It’s lucky Ortega isn’t looking at your face– Jane’s face when she says that. Ortega hesitates, “I just… really cared about her.”

“So…” Jane drags out the ‘o’, looking around. There’s nobody else this far into the museum yet it looks like. Probably all too busy drinking their tits off. God. You could use a drink yourself.

This would be excellent chance to change the subject, get back on track. Ask her about how things are as hero, transition to the rest of the Rangers. Easy-peasy.

Instead of doing any of that, Jane asks, curious, “why didn’t it work out, then? What, didn’t she like women?”

Oh God damnit. But of course you have to pursue this now. Jane doesn’t let things go. Her woman might have divided loyalties? Gotta follow that thread.

“You know what?” Ortega looks thoughtful for a brief moment, “I’m… not sure? I thought she did, but it’s hard to tell. She’s a very private woman. And well, I was… scared, I suppose.”

Jane covers her mouth, trying not to laugh. “ _You?_ Scared?”

Scared?

_Scared??_

Ortega raises her hands, defensive. “I wasn’t exactly out then. And I was dating men at the time.” She tilts her head. “I felt like I had a role to live up to, I was told I needed a boyfriend for the newspapers.”

“Oh?” Jane frowns at that, raises an eyebrow. “You always do what people tell you to do?”

“I’m not the woman I used to be.” Ortega laughs, bitter, or are you projecting? Wishing? “I don’t let other people run my life. …Anymore.”

“So… what? What’s your goal there?” Jane crosses her arms, leans to the side. “You planning on fixing what you screwed up back then? Is that what this is about?” 

Ortega gives Jane a look, equal parts hurt and shocked. “I…” Ortega flinches, shakes her head. “I’m here with you, the past is the past.” She sounds uncomfortable as she says it. Uncertain?

Wait.

Are… are you sabotaging… _yourself_ here?

You can feel a need to scream from deep within Jane’s body. You’ve wanted to scream throughout this entire conversation in second-hand embarrassment for yourself. Why are you doing this!?

Ortega abandoned you, threw you away.

You don’t want anything from her anymore.

You _don’t_.

Absolutely not.

Whatever the two of you might have had died with Ariadne, thrown out a window. 

She means nothing.

She’s been nothing but a pain.

She thought she could just walk her way back in your life, and what?

Does she _really_ feel guilty? For what? Failing you? Turning you in?

You don’t know.

You _can’t_ know.

Years ago not knowing Ortega’s thoughts was a comfort. She was someone you could pretend to have a normal ‘human’ relationship with. Someone who’s thoughts wouldn’t immediately betray every nasty little observation about you. Now it’s another log in the fuel for your nightmares.

You might want to scream, but Jane doesn’t– can’t. Jane just purses her lips in a tight slash, not buying Ortega’s assurances. “If you say so.”

Jane turns away from Ortega, and whatever she might have said next goes out the window at the sight of it: Sidestep’s display.

Your display?

You steal a quick glance at Ortega, did she bring you here on purpose? No. No, it’s just a coincidence. It has to be.

There’s a little plaque and then a much larger board on the wall next to the mannequin listing out your– no, _her_ greatest ‘accomplishments.’ There’s a whole cut-out section talking about the Nanosurge. Guess there’s no need to protect the secret of her telepathy now that she’s dead (Doesn’t stop the LDPD from still claiming partial-credit). Assholes. It calls her early death a ‘tragedy.’

You feel sick and for once Jane feels it too, and you have to grip the guard rail to steady herself. Why _aren’t_ you dead? Why haven’t you been chopped up for spare parts in a hospital somewhere? Why are you still here? Sidestep shouldn’t be up there, she’s no hero. She couldn’t even save herself. All that’s left is echoes; a ghost, a faint hope for revenge to keep you putting one foot in front of the other.

A revenge that starts tonight if you have anything to say about it. If Sidestep was still alive, she’d be the first in line to punch you in the face. It’s hard to argue you wouldn’t deserve it.

There’s a hand on your arm and Jane looks up to see Ortega watching her with concern. “Are you alright?”

“It’s nothing.” Jane shakes her head hard, whipping her hair out of place. An hour’s work taming this hair into curls undone in seconds. Clear the thoughts from your mind. Focus. Don’t get distracted. She chews her lip. “It’s this whole place, I guess. It makes me feel…” Jane frowns, “Insignificant?”

“Insignificant?” Ortega mirrors back, tilting her head as she looks at Jane.

“I mean…” Jane gestures a limp hand towards the curve of the exhibits against the wall. Ghosts you might have known once. “All this weird world.” She frowns, grips the railing tighter with her other hand. “I’m just nobody.”

“That’s not true.” Ortega raises her voice, matching your own. “You are very far from being a nobody.”

Jane wants to laugh, smile in charmed embarrassment, but you suppress it. “Sorry, sorry.” She sighs. “I didn’t mean for things to get this weird. I just wanted to have a bit of fun.”

“I know what you mean,” Ortega scratches the back of her head. Embarrassed?

Well, Jane did just finish implying Ortega might be having a thing with another woman. Ortega herself is kind of your only real-world model here but that _does_ seem like a mood killer.

“Maybe it wasn’t the best of choices to go looking around in here. I know you said you’re okay with what I do for a living, but actually seeing it is a bit disconcerting.” Ortega offers as a concession, she’s too nice for her own good.

“It’s just mannequins,” Jane flashes a smile, waving a hand dismissively, “with bad fashion sense at that.”

“That’s true.” Ortega laughs, relaxes. “You have no idea how true that is.” You brace yourself for Ortega to launch into one of her favorite stories about Steel. It doesn’t come. 

Weird.

Jane lets go of the guard rail, feeling a little more steady on her feat now. “You have a much more interesting life than I do.” She sweeps a hand at the exhibits for emphasis. You might know better than to glorify hero life, but Jane wouldn’t. “I mean, you get to be a part of all this.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t feel that interesting to me. It’s just work. Granted,” Ortega raises a hand in concession, “the uniform is a bit weird than most. But once you live this, it really loses its glamor.”

“Hmmm. I find that hard to believe.”

“Honestly, I’m a lot more curious about you.”

Jane’s face quirks into a smile. “Oh? I find that even harder to believe.”

“Really?” Ortega returns the smile, lets it go wider. “I mean, that’s partly why I invited you here? To get to know you better.”

“Only partly?”

“Well,” Ortega gives Jane a look. “That _is_ traditionally the part that comes first.” You know that look, if only as a kind of second-hand smoke from always being in Ortega’s orbit. The look in her eyes, the twitch of her lips, the way she carries herself, how her full attention shifts…

Now it’s aimed straight at Jane. Her heart is pounding. She tucks her hair away behind her ear, smiles back with a nervous energy.

Flirting was one thing, going out on like this was one thing. It was all part of the game. Why not have a little fun if you were going to be keeping tabs on Ortega anyway, right? It was harmless. Was supposed to be harmless.

Now it’s suddenly become way too real. The way she leans in toward Jane. Jane, doesn’t look away. She wants to lean in, wants to step forward. For a moment you can see yourself doing that; stepping forward, and it’s your reflection, not Jane’s, in the mirrored walls, grabbing Ortega by shoulders, head tilted slightly up to kiss her on the lips.

You don’t do that. Can’t do that. Could _never_ do that. You want to run. But Jane’s not that kind of girl. She’s everything you’re not. She doesn’t run. Doesn’t break eye contact. Stands her ground. Dare the other party to blink away first.

Jane isn’t the type to back down.

No one blinks

No one stops.

It’s not fair:

Your first kiss; it’s not even yours.


	3. fire, never consuming

It’s not quiet.

It’s the low rumble of a hospital in the middle of fielding a crisis. The wooden door can only muffle so much. It doesn't quite feel real, knowing that you caused this. No suit to insulate you now, no puppet to keep the world at remove. Just you wearing some random garbage clothes, and the woman you put in a hospital bed staring up at you. How many other people did you put in beds like this?

Why is this bed the only one you care about?

“I haven’t even said thank you yet.”

“For what?”

“For coming here. There’s no reason for you to.”

“What?” You look at her, wide-eyed. Guilty. But she can’t know that. You jab Ortega in the arm. “I do care about you– you idiot.”

“Ow! Remember that I’m hospitalized?”

“Just– just look at you…” You push up from the seat, nervous energy making your hands shake. You grab the handle of the cart holding the machine Ortega’s hooked up to, suddenly not confident in your ability to walk.

You need to let go of this, let go of her. This isn’t going to stop happening. You’re burning your past tonight, and that past includes Julia. 

“Hey,” Ortega whispers, you don’t look at her. “Are you all right? I’m not dead– are you…?”

“I am _not_ crying!” You raise your voice, willing it to be a factual statement. Rub your eyes with one hand, blinking furiously. You slump back down in your chair. Don’t look at her. Don’t look at what you did. “You’re an idiot.” You choke out. “You’re an idiot with no sense, and I don’t even have any idea why I should _ever_ care what happens to you, and yet _here I am_ and– and–“ You pound your first into your lap, dig your nails into the fabric of your pants.

“And I’m grateful you are. I just didn’t…” Ortega’s voice is quiet, bordering on awe.

You don’t look. Can’t look. You want to die. You want her to reach out from that bed and pump you full of lightning until you’re a pile of ash on the floor, grab you by the neck and throw you through the window.

Something.

 _Anything_.

Just touch you, _please_.

Your hand digging into your leg has shifted into tracing patterns, you focus on that instead. Something familiar. Damn, why are you so warm? You wish they’d pump the A/C up, aren’t hospitals supposed to be freezing?

“I don’t– I don’t know what I’m– what I’m feeling–“ You blurt out. Try. Try to stop shaking. Get a grip, chickadee. “This isn’t the right time, and–“

“Okay, okay. I get it. I think.”

You force yourself to look up at her. What is that expression on her face? Is she dazed from the fight? Your heart breaks again seeing the stitches holding her lip together. You let out a long, shaking breath, rub your eyes again. Try to smile, it feels hollow. “I’m glad one us does. I don’t get anything anymore.”

“We’ll… talk about this later?” She looks at you, searching. Lost? You can only guess. Can only ever guess. “When things are less messed up?”

**Later, but not by nearly enough…**

Ortega reaches out to the elevator pad and pushes the STOP button. The two of you jostle as it comes to a sudden halt.

You swallow a lump in your throat, “What are you doing…?”

“Getting us some time to talk. There’s something I need to find out.”

You look away from her, shrink back against the wall opposite from Ortega. “Then… talk.”

“I just… wanted to say thank you, I suppose.” From the corner of your eye you can see Ortega is also avoiding looking directly at you. “I didn’t expect this.”

You relax a little. “Nobody ever _expects_ to be beaten up,” you whisper. Ortega’s just… being thankful.

You can handle that.

“No, I meant you being here.” You manage to look up just in time to see her staring at you, full-focused.

Oh.

You can’t handle that.

“We– We’ve been over this.” You protest.

Don’t think about what’s happening. Don’t think about how she’s looking at you. Don’t think about how you just put her in a hospital bed. Don’t think about how you kissed her while wearing a woman’s skin.

“This was a one-time thing,” you voice is low, barely even a whisper. “This… this isn’t my life anymore.” Why is is always so warm in these buildings?

It’s not fair, frankly. You’re a villain now. You shouldn’t have to keep hiding what you want from everyone, including yourself. You _absolutely_ shouldn’t be thinking about that moment in the Gala where Ortega wrapped her arms around Jane.

Why are you jealous of her? She’s you.

Isn’t she?

Before you realize what you’re doing, you step forward, like Jane wanted to. It doesn’t feel real. Like you’re back in the middle of a life-or-death fight, where the seconds stretch out around you in slow motion. You can see yourself in the elevator mirror, grabbing Ortega by the shoulders. She’s staring at you, a look of dawning surprise.

She’s taller than you, but not by much, you just have to tilt your head up, you’re not in heels this time so you have to lift up ever-so-slightly, and you can press your lips against hers. Her soft skin is intercut with raw stitching and scabbing blood. Kissing her is strange.

You’ve never done this before–

–except that yes you have literally just done this.

Sort of.

As a– as a different woman.

That kiss had been intense, Ortega took the lead, with her arms wrapping around Jane, pulling her close. Jane reaching back, tossing her purse to the ground so she could run her hands through Ortega’s hair, draw circles on her back.

Kissing Ortega now, as Ariadne Becker, it’s the same face Jane touched alright. But marred now, by your own handiwork. You aren’t Jane. That’s inescapable. The two of you might seem alike at a passing glance, similar hair, similar eye color. But it can’t hold up under close inspection like this. You have thinner, extremely chapped lips, for one, you haven’t bothered to comb your hair in weeks – a stray strand gets stuck between you two as you kiss – for another. Your nose sticks out more so you have to tilt your head to maneuver around Ortega’s. Jane is real in ways you never can be. Everything’s just off enough to emphasize the alien inside the familiarity.

Ortega doesn’t quite kiss you back this time around; passively accepting your touch with a stunned, breathy awe.

Too soon you have to pull back. There’s a taste of copper lingering on your tongue. Your heart is pounding, your adrenaline crash being flushed away with a fresh shot.

“I thought I was…” Ortega licks her lips, expression unreadable, “…imagining things.”

You let go of her shoulders, feeling a strange mix of glowing calm contrasting against your heart trying to escape your ribcage. You can feel a smile threatening to escape. “Should... Should I worry about you having a concussion too?”

“Very funny.”

“It’s…” You lick your lips, mouth suddenly dry. “Ah– call it trying– trying out a missed opportunity.”

You actually…

 _You_ did, not Jane.

You touched someone.

Willingly. Without prompting.

Moreover, you touched _her_.

And you don’t want to throw up.

“It’s not that I’m complaining but…” Ortega looks completely lost at sea. “I mean, I…”

You can feel your brief calm dissolving already. You’re trapped in a box with no outlet other than Ortega. You grab your arms, hugging yourself to try and keep from shaking again. You feel warm, hot like a fire, and Ortega looks an awful lot like tinder right now.

“Ari… what does this mean?”

“We’ll…” You take a breath. “We’ll talk about it later.” You reach out and slam a button on the panel, get the elevator moving again.

Ortega touches her lips, “Later? What are you talking about? Why not now?”

You don’t respond. You don’t have an answer that even to you doesn't sound queen supreme of fucked up. You don’t meet Ortega’s gaze as the increasingly awkward seconds drag by until the elevator chimes and the door slides open. “Because this is my stop.”


End file.
